


Ritual Gone

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Archdemons!, Curious Pets, F/F, F/M, Feels!, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Potential Eventual Smutt, Sister-Sister Relationship, close friends, early romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8478067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: Ramifications of Snuffles curiosity.





	1. Beginnings

Seated beside a wide slow stream, Elissa, Wynne, and Leliana washed out some of their clothes. Clearing her throat, Elissa hesitantly asked, "Mother Wy--uh, I am sorry. Um, Wynne. Might I ask you for advice?" Elissa Amell asked, blushing furiously. "Of course dear." The circle mage responded with a warm smile. "Might I hazard a guess that this conversation has something to do with another warden, relatively nearby?" Despite the expected impossibility of such a feat, Elissa's face shifted from scarlet to mahogany. She cleared her throat, "it, um, might, would that be wrong, do you think? He is rather, uh, admirable to, um, admire."   
"Admirable to admire?" Leliana trilled, doubling over with laughter. "By the Maker, you do have it bad for our dear warden prince!" Leliana was still laughing as she dodged a small pebble that went whirring past her ear. Elissa, heartbroken about not yet having found her brother Fergus, revelled in these playful moments with the chantry sister, who treated Elissa more like one of her siblings than like a leader to be followed. "Hmm, shall I tell our dear prince of your delightful turn of phrase regarding his admirability?" Elissa shouted, "Maker, no! Leli!" "Oh, I must head back to camp now! I just remembered I left a pot to boil!" Leliana grinned back at Elissa, and began to head in the direction of camp. Elissa laughed and jumped up after Leliana. The two raced each other back to their camping spot and collapsed on Leliana's bedroll helplessly, breathlessly, giggling. When Alistair walked past the girls to head down to the river with his own dirty laundry, the giggling resumed. He paused with a grin on his face, and twinkling eyes, said, "I probably don't really want to know, do I?" at the Elissa’s blush and Leliana’s helpless waving away of his question he shook his blond locks and continued on his way.   
Some time after Alistair left, Wynne returned to camp, smiled, pulled out some yarn and a pair of knitting needles, and continued working on what appeared to be a miniature sweater. Elissa sobered when she realized that Fergus must have made his way home by now, expecting to see Oren and Orana, and their parents. She couldn’t imagine the horror, and heartbreak on her brother’s face when he realized his wife and child had been slaughtered.   
Leliana watched the storm of emotions play across her friend’s face and understood Elissa was thinking of her family. She was often thus, after their merry little band of misfits enjoyed familial experiences like teasing and play. Leliana sobered, heartbreaking for her friend, because Elissa wasn’t one to share her sorrows, or her thoughts easily. She held things, far too close in a misguided attempt to keep her loved ones safe.


	2. Plotward, Ho!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirting and questions between Alistair, and Elissa, and Morrigan.

The setting sun withdrew its heat as the cloak of night covered the sky with its stars and velvet. Elissa huddled closer to the warmth of the fire by her bedroll. She didn't know how long she had expected it to take to gather the armies, and get ready to battle the archdemon, but she hadn't expected to be camping out when the snow flew. Thank the Maker, Snuffles had survived Arl Howe's traitorous attack on her family's hold. Her heart still hurt when she remembered how close the Couslands, and the Howes had been for so long, and years of family celebrations with Delilah, Nathaniel, and Thomas had drawn the children together. Delilah had been like a sister to Elissa, they had played, braided one another's hair, dreamt of future joys, practiced their court manners, and shared secret loves with one another. Truth be told, Elissa had carried a small torch for Nathaniel. He was years older than she was, and Delilah would tease Elissa horribly every time her oldest brother appeared at Highever, or whenever Elissa saw him at the Howe Estate in Amaranthine. Her heart still fluttered a little when she thought of him, just before he went away to join his father’s troops on the battle field. Elissa knew her feelings were unrequited, that Nathaniel had a love elsewhere, and had always seen Elissa as a younger sister, especially as she and Delilah were the same age.   
Elissa came back to herself, and the cold of camp when something shifted against her. She glanced to her left and Snuffles was huffing against her. “Are you trying to warm me up?” Snuffles licked her cheek, and flopped half on, half off Elissa’s lap. “Ugh. I have no idea how you sleep so close to that nasty smelling beast. He is appalling, and Snuffles smells bad as well. Snuffles also has better manners when his snout isn’t buried in my satchel digging for treats,” Morrigan sniffed as she left the communal campfire, and wandered off toward her own. “Hey! That’s rude, Morrigan. I bathe once a week whether I require one or not,” Alistair grinned at her retreating back. She stiffened slightly, her sensuous mosey, interrupted almost imperceptibly before continuing to her solitary bedroll, and fire. Snuffles raised his head, cocked it, and whined a little sadly while watching Morrigan’s retreating back. “I know, boy, I wish we could all be friends, instead of strangers with a joint purpose travelling as a unit.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indications of Morrigan's shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, commenting, and posting kudos to my works. I apologize for the sometimes unpolishedness of some of my work. Sometimes writing flows like electric current, othertimes, every word, and phrase must be battled for. This is one of those stories for me.  
> Thank you for your kindness, and patience.

Morrigan was quite pleased with the way things were progressing. She liked the female warden, Elissa Cousland. Elissa wasn’t a wilting daisy, like most of the elves Morrigan had had the misfortune of meeting. Elissa saw what needed to be done and listened to the diverse opinions of all in the traveling party before making a decision. The stupid, boy-king bastard warden kept deferring to Elissa, and she adjusted. Morrigan wished there was a way to avoid using the bastard, but that was an important part of the ritual Morrigan had been sent by Flemeth to complete. Although it was very satisfying to watch his inane face purple after an insult to his intelligence, and his inability to offer anything like a satisfactory response soothed her. She alone knew what was at stake here, knew exactly what Flemeth had planned when she’d sent her only daughter along with these foolish wardens.   
Morrigan reviewed the notes Flemeth had forced into her hands, along with the herbs she would need for the ritual to work. Following the notes for day 91 she sprinkled liberal amounts of dried blood lotus around her tent along with sprinkled handfuls of dried deep mushroom, alternating with elfroot. She continued working with the herbs Flemeth had given her, until this day’s spell work was completed. There was more than one benefit to having one’s bedroll away from the main group. Happily, the others were so focused on their own little “social bonding” rituals, were they telling stories around the fire? Or, was that bard singing, again? Morrigan shuddered, grateful she was far enough away she couldn’t hear the insipid words of whatever song Leliana was regaling the group with at the moment. The groups attention was so rapt they didn’t pay attention to Morrigan’s activities that evening.  
The next morning, Morrigan planned to determine the extent of her herbal stores for that evening’s work, when she found half a dead rabbit in her pack! Damn that mangy beast! Ugh! After chiding Snuffles, for his unwelcome “gift”, and dealing with Elissa’s bruised ego, Morrigan returned to her fireside to continue cataloging the herbs she had, and the ones she would need to pick along the way. That damned dog kept sneaking into her pack searching for treats. Which to the dog was anything even remotely edible. That beast had an addiction to most herbs, though thank goodness he had a distaste for blood lotus, or he’d have consumed all her stores before she could use them.   
As it was, he’d already devoured her stores of dried elfroot, and deep mushroom, so she’d had to take time to collect more along their way. Thankfully, Elissa was very interested in keeping a good stock of healing salves, and poultices on hand, and so, there was no lack of opportunities to collect more. And no fear of raised eyebrows as she did so.


	4. Morrigan's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan's thoughts about party members and her reaction to their growing relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nine pages of handwritten notes for this chapter. Some writing is like breathing. It is floating on the aether and you just write what is there. Other writing is like changing the course of an angrily flowing waterfall. This, so far, is both. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for your patience. I am blaming this story (and the subsequent "ship") squarely on Varric and Cassandra. It is entirely their fault.   
> That's my story anyway. :D 
> 
> Constructive criticism welcomed!

     Alistair threw back his head and laughed. Merriment danced in his eyes, genuine amusement on his face, laughing for all the world to see. For prolonged periods of time. He had an easy way about him, accepting anyone, well, no, almost anyone she corrected herself. He’d been suspicious of her from the start. Guarded. Templar attitudes more deeply ingrained than even he suspected. “Sneaky witch thief,” he’d called her on their first meeting. Puffing out his chest in a sordid attempt to appear older, more mature than the green warden recruits he had been surrounded by.

     Flemeth had dispatched her to the wilds on a whim, and Morrigan had obeyed, as always. Paying particular attention to the areas of their home’s perimeter, she’d been wandering through the wilds, following instinct, and had found herself at the abandoned warden tower. When she arrived, from the vantage point she’d had, she saw their little group enter the wilds from the Ostagar gate. She’d amused herself by watching the meandering path they’d forged through the wilds. Some of the green wardens had obviously entered the wilds for the first time, just by the way they walked. They’d obviously been wary, if not outright frightened. Morrigan had been dispatched by Flemeth as soon as Flemeth had been warned that the perimeter to the wilds had been breached. The raven had flown to Flemeth’s side, whispering in her ear. The details of the group’s mission for darkspawn blood, and Flemeth had assumed, the old grey warden treaties, she’d rescued years before when Flemeth had realized that the tower had become a ruin, and the treaties looked like they were in danger of being destroyed through exposure to the elements. Morrigan sneered at the memory of her mother’s hinting, insinuating advice, watching for them at the crumbling tower.

     “Bring them with you so I may determine the grew warden’s caliber in this new batch of recruits. I do not wish to reveal myself to the Warden Duncan, but I will if I must.” Morrigan had had to fight not to roll her eyes at her mother’s dramatic flair.

     Morrigan had enjoyed pocking snide fun at the bastard prince’s attempts to insult her in their verbal fencing matches. He was so entertaining to provoke! He tried so hard to come up with words that would pierce her, as hers so easily irritated him. She chuckled low in her throat at the memory of their first meeting’s conclusion. She had easily parried his words about barbarians.   
     “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” Her mockery at his fear alight in her eyes. She’d had to stop the unexpected laugh that had threatened to escape her at his blustering reply.

     “Yes.” He’d said dryly, “Swooping is bad.” To regain her control, so she didn’t give the game away, she’d quickly turned to the young angry noble woman radiating grief, and despair it rolled off her in waves. Morrigan had known then that something had happened to the young woman that had shocked her in its intensity, and she was still dealing with it. With the exception of Alistair, the warden recruits were shivering with the cold of the wilds so hard the rattling of their armor echoed around the broken tower. Morrigan had been impervious to cold since childhood. Morrigan had noted the banked coals of fire in the young woman’s eyes, when Morrigan had turned her questions to Eliana Cousland. Eliana straightened her already straight spine as she responded to Morrigan’s curiosity about Eliana’s point of view. Morrigan had felt an odd kinship with the grieving noble from their first meeting, and that kinship had grown the longer they traveled together.

     Weeks after the disaster of the fall of the Ferelden king at Ostagar, despite her intentional attempts to maintain emotional distance from her traveling companions, demonstrated by her physical distance whenever they set camp somewhere, she felt a fondness growing for both the fierce grieving girl, and the joyful, silly warden. She had been shocked when she finally admitted to herself that Alistair was pleasant to look at, and to tease. Unsurprisingly there was a degree of grief taking root within her breast. Grateful for her tent’s distance from the others, she had no need to worry that someone would overhear her if she called out something in her sleep. Especially as her dreams of late had begun to feature a handsome warden with eye crinkles, and a laugh that was beginning to make her weak in the knees when it echoed around her.

     Ugh! She wasn’t prepared for this to happen! She’d been used to the pawing, slavering men who thought to conquer her by way of a prettily spun complement and a spiked drink. She’d learned how to use her body as a weapon against those bumbling fools. She’d also learned how quickly an unwanted advance could turn into something more violent, and how quickly she could call up the magic that would defend her from those attacks. She’d learned how to manipulate men with her body, winking at most of them while wearing something moderately revealing and they drooled, eating out of her hand.

     Instead, this bastard-prince with his fumbling attempts at verbal fencing, open unguarded laughter with others, sweet smile, and beautiful eyes, was growing on her. Ugh! She needed him for the ritual her mother had explained to her, but she didn’t want to want him! Damn it! Morrigan hated it when Flemeth’s predictions proved true! In the moments while Morrigan had packed her meager possessions, Flemeth had called her aside to speak of the ritual that could save the grey wardens from extinction at the hand of the Archdemon. Flemeth’s eyes had narrowed shrewdly, and had warned Morrigan to be ‘‘ware of beautiful idiots.”

      Morrigan knew she would have to take especial care with her words, and actions. Thankfully, the attraction would only make the conclusion of the ritual more enjoyable for her, and hopefully not terrible for him. The part that was truly troubling was the seed of desire for his attention that grew within her. Despite her attempts to quash it, it grew. She desired him to look at her with the same flirty appreciation he had shown to Eliana. Though Morrigan could do without Alistair following her about like that smelly hound Eliana had insisted on bringing with them.

     Morrigan pushed aside thoughts and reasons why it bothered her so, and began piecing out the steps for the ritual that Flemeth had instructed her in. Laughably her traveling companions were so invested int their own affairs (was that bumbling fool on one knee before Eliana? What was he handing her? That dreamy look on his face, --ugh!) Shaking her head, Morrigan smothered the smile that threatened at their antics. “Not my concern. Attraction is not necessary for the ritual to work.” It was not needed. Morrigan steadfastly ignored the little voice in her ehad that pointed out that mutual attraction would have been a nice addition though. Her caustic tongue had cheated her out of relationships before this. She jgrew tired of trying to please, playing at the empty-headed swooning girl. She much preferred sharpening her rapier-wit on idiots who thought she should be an easy conquest either mentally, or sexually.

     Peering at the items she had strewn about her, her eyebrows raised. That damned hound had eaten some of her store of herbs again. Dratted creature. She would have to pick more spindle weed by the river. Wandering down to the slope leading to the river, she tried not to hear the sighs and giggles emanating from Eliana’s tent. Ignoring the sharp pang of loss, and swiping at a stray drop of water which had escaped her lashes, she raised her head high, and proceeded down the bank to her quarry. Hours later Morrigan returned to her fire, being mindful to not bruise the spindleweed too harshly, lest she release the bitterness instead of the sweet.

     After smearing some spindleweed essence on her feet, she paced the perimeter of the camp, closing the circle behind her own tent. As she trudged through the tall grasses surrounding the camp site she reflected on some of her companions and their foibles. It was sweet, and foolhardy how easily Eliana Cousland trusted everyone around her. One would expect she’d lost that innocent trust with the wholesale slaughter of her family at the hands of a man whose children she had played with. But no, she was just as trusting as always. They’d been traveling together for months now, and Eliana still displayed the same level of trust.

     Things were drawing to a close. Morrigan could feel it. They had rescued Redcliff, and their Arl Teagan, saved the circle from its own idiotic peril at the hands of the Templar fools who guarded them, chosen a new ruler for the dwarves who were content to squabble like angry spoilt children. Fools. They had even been forced to show the Dalish leader the path of common sense. Arrogant fool that he was. Breaking the were-creature plague he had started through a foolish act of vengeance. Truly Morrigan had felt an affinity for Witherfang. The creature was made in an act of vengeance, bitterness her food, spirit ripped from the fade and bound into a vessel against its will. Yet Witherfang had attempted to commune with its creator to broker peace. Shaking her head to clear it of these memories, she finished the last steps of preparation of the ritual which would, if completed, spare the lives of all the wardens when the Archdemon died.

     After Eliana and Alistair returned from their meeting with the older warden, she would approach Eliana, and hopefully, Eliana would help her convince Alistair that one night with her would save their lives. Morrigan’s heart fell a little more when she realized if she approached Alistair on her own, he would most likely run her through for even suggesting such a thing. Even though he and Eliana had fallen apart a few weeks after they had found each other, and Eliana had moved on, reveling in Zevran’s charms. Shaking her head at her own foolish heart, Morrigan concentrated on her annoyance at Alistair’s antics. He was being handed a kingdom on a silver platter, and instead he complained about being a terrible ruler. She tried and failed to not think about him laughing with abandon. She had to continue to deny any feelings that had grown for him over the last months that they had traveled together.

     He had taken every opportunity to remind Morrigan of his views on “apostates” and “maleficarum” and anyone not shackled to the Chantry’s teat. He had made no bones about his dislike of her personally as well. She had no doubts that any advances on her part would be loudly scorned. Maybe, No. Things were what they were. Taking a deep breath to center herself for the task ahead she began grinding today’s harvest of witherstalk. When it was at the right consistency she would daub the lintle, and bed posts of the ritual room with it.  

     Dog came over while she was working, seated on his haunches, he cocked his head to the side and watched her make the paste. Without preamble he stuck his nose into the bowl, and before she could react, sneezed. Fury, fear, and panic came to a head in her and exploded outward.

     “Eliana! I have had it! Leash this beast of yours or I shall turn it into a lizard!” Morrigan stood, wiping dog snot, and pulpy bits of witherstalk off her face. Dog’s ears perked at Eliana’s whistle. Her irritated face reminded him he was about to get scolded. Putting his ears down, feigning shame during her diratribe of respecting Morrigan’s personal space and items, Dog watched Morrigan stalk off to where the water flowed. He saw her return with more of the same smelling stuff she’d had in her bowl before he’d sneezed into it. He saw her return to the same motions she was making before, and lay down by his mistress’ chair. Close enough to see what Morrigan was doing, but far enough to not be in her way while she did it.

     She scraped the poultice into a waterskin. She would add water, and squeeze the contents while they walked tomorrow, it would be the appropriate consistency when she needed it.

 

    


End file.
